young men die for silver silk
by eatwithjin
Summary: For the woman can live forever, her equilibrium was a man who cannot. [reincarnation!Yuda/Judas & canon-as-can-be!Eunbidan; another of my I Don't Want This Kind of Hero otp; yudabidan]


**a/n:** for president f(uc)k's birthday, which is funny since i wrote for him but not his much more lovable and badass counterpart haaa. anyway this is an idea i've had for like two years now so i'm pretty much convinced it's canon.… been a while for me to use my "flowery" language lmao so lemme know what you think of this fancy stuff. yeaaa so this is my other idwtkoh otp, an etheral eternal goddess paired with shitty korean boy.

last thing, i've gotten permission to upload cover image, which i can't link here, but the artist's twitter is yunzn_pic so check her out!

* * *

 **young**

 **men**

 **die**

 **for**

 **silver silk**

* * *

 **notes:**

 _Then one of the Twelve—the one called Judas Iscariot—went to the chief priests_ _and asked, "What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?" So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver.  
_ Matthews 26:14-15 (NIV)

은비단 (Eun-bi-dan) – _Silver_ (은) _Silk_ (비단)

 _Judas kiss:_ An act of betrayal.

#

Before she left on her own, the elder others of her kind sat her down. A lesson that was best taught through soft, warm words lest sharp, cold reality could. They advised her that humans were treacherous, that their living finitude was something to fear, that with encroaching death festered desperation.

They did not advise her that she would dread their ephemeral lives, that she the deathless would drown with desperation, that the only treachery she could not save him from was herself.

They pleaded for her promise, and she promised for no human being could ever matter.

#

Judas the first was straddled upon a fence between youth and adulthood. Even though his boyish back carried summertime lethargy, he'd carried himself with something like maturity. In a moment's scrutiny, Bidan loosened her grip on her paper parasol and gazed. There was an arrogant air about him, like confidence ghosting above, however, he stiffened and turned his torso upon a literal fence.

Humans weren't intimidating as a whole. Although this one continued to stare long after she looked away. Bidan didn't mind. She was accustomed to their inevitable interest. Most likely, he'd never seen an inhumanly beautiful being as herself, though she tired of hearing the same shallow compliment. A part of her knew he would call for her, more than likely after taking her in for so long. The market was an obstacle, however, as the careless crowd swallowed her whole. That didn't deter him from a second shout.

When she turned, Bidan supposed it was chance for throwing her off balance.

The first time Bidan indulged a good look was within loose-limbed arms. Just with one hand wrapped around her outstretched wrist, the other arm just barely supporting the small of her back "Afternoon, Miss," he seemed to say. Bidan blinked in awe. "Might I just say—you're _real_ pretty."

#

Strange, how any sort of mental or physical exhaustion had not cloud her over. Instead, it was more like fascination that pulled their countenances closer. Like this, mortal men would never fail to fall for her again and again, but he had not in his stoic, stubborn splendor.

Bidan took an immediate liking to this boy, Judas, he'd mentioned his name to her. Though she was reminded of a biblical betrayer, she discovered him to be otherwise. Conceited, short-tempered, childishly impulsive, yes, but. In different extents, she was like Judas as well, although he was absolutely understanding to those below his humankind.

As his gentle, yet concise, fingers measured the spread span of her arms, he offhandedly informed her of his background; a seven-year-old orphan raised by distant relatives who were cloth-spinners, and terribly so as their patrons lined in a thin trickle. That ended there. Judas had long searched for his answer in the form of a spider-hybrid. Bidan listened, curious with his confident trust in an upcoming cloth-spinner. He only required a model, a muse, a maiden like her. In a similar passion, Judas spoke about Bidan as though she was to begin the era of modeling and musing. _Was that a word?_ It was, Bidan laughed in her silver rarity, then wondered how human she appeared to be, or perhaps, appeared to feel.

Strange was an underestimation then.

Bidan stayed with a child no less. Even after their spider-silk disbursed the clothing industry, even after that trickling clientele swelled into a rushing river, even after he mumbled he did not wish to be her needless weight, Bidan stayed. Somehow, she wanted to. Part of her, the exact same from before, maybe, thought that she liked to.

Excuses masked her endearment as she dedicated her days to Judas' excited expressions. The way passion electrified his eyes, and the way his words jumbled over each other in animated haste. The honesty in his aspirated spiels centered around more and more spiders. They were generally feared for their arachnid appearance, but Judas was adamant in eradicating this nonsense. There were no better silk-spinner than spiders, Judas reasoned, therefore they deserved to be revered as equivalent to their stunning skill.

"Like you, Miss Eunbidan," Judas realized. Another came to mind. "Eunbidan? Like… silver silk?" When he smiled, that was the moment she lost. "Pretty. It suits you."

#

"Judas." His fingers paused upon tying her silver, spider's-silky _jeogiri_. "I am nothing like human." Blue eyes locked on hers as she added on like an afterthought, "I do not know what I am, but I know I can live forever."

After these past five years, she did not know what to expect.

But, not this, not when he smirked smartly and replied, "Then you must dress like this forever." Bidan grew fond of his laughter, like streams of youth, then a pretty flush when he kissed her cheek.

#

The room was sweltering hot, unbearably so, and Bidan could do nothing.

Among black haze, Judas stared skyward. His back toward her, she could spot the end of his tears darkening the scorched mats below. He was still shedding silent tears as he cried, "They took everything. My own family." Again, Bidan flinched as he brought flames upon yards-worth of spider's silk. The torch was slowly wearing down the wood, tempted to lick his fingers. "I've brought betrayal to the spiders. I didn't want _this_ ," Judas enunciated like a forewarned king at the peak of ruin, but he trembled with the form of a thirteen-year-old. "I have told the spiders to take everything I've saved and run. We don't have any more cloth-makers now… We don't have anything."

Smoke accumulated in a foggy frenzy now, almost suffocating Bidan. Tears stinging her eyes—a poignant part from what she was seeing—, she reached for him. Judas allowed her fingers to fit over his wrist. As the tears formed in great glops, he choked out, "C-can you promise me somethin'?"

 _A child._

"Bidan?"

 _He's a child._

"Can you?"

 _He's_ just _a child._

"Bidan, please."

 _No, he's more than that, he is—_

"Bidan," he snapped her out of a distressed daze. Now, not only was his hand too warm around her wrist, but his arm stretched halfway around her back. He'd grown, and she wanted more. "Promise me."

Her head hazy, she breathed, "Judas?"

"Promise you-you'll remember me as you've known me, d-despite this?"

Before she could even fathom what this was, his grip upon her was strong and secure as she was sent flying, crashing. A few broken bones were nothing as Bidan peeled her face from the dirt. Still, she could do nothing as the building housing Judas caved in, flames in fury burying his legacy, his losses, and

— _my child._

#

Judas the first was also the last child blessed with heavy heartache.

Loneliness lingered on her skin. A few decades could never erase his absence, neither could the handful of infatuated men. They ended up vaguely resembling him, perhaps the similar blue of his glare, or a halfway smirk. But just not Judas' blue or Judas cocky, and they'd never reciprocate her maternal love.

Bidan never forgot, and in good time when she thought she'd been mistaken.

The mid-morning was gracious to bathe the teahouse' alley with warm sunlight. And there, in all of his grown glory, Judas the second was standing before her. Like a routine now, Bidan studied his appearance from the exact electric blue of his narrowed eyes to his quirked smirk twitching from time to time. Agitation was his one of his best expressions, and the more she stared, the more her memory ached for validation.

" _Judas!_ "

He reacted, turning to the sound of his name. Bidan wasn't apologetic for intervening his conversation, and she flew onto him just as he sent her flying decades ago. But this had to be different, the second was a sharp contrast as his matured palms tugged her back, as his head tilted down to take her in. " _Miss, please,_ " he stammered, then surrendered. Like the practiced hands of a blind woman, Bidan's fingers traveled across his strong jawline, pressed his cheekbone, and rested against his temples. On her toes, she bumped her forehead against Judas's, startling him, before she cried.

#

A military official. He hadn't seen his parents in months, but his brother was his senior in a nearby town. Twenty-seven years old. This was a common effect, but with Judas, Bidan beamed with the loosening of his shoulders, his tongue following. Likes were practicing his swordplay, dried persimmons, and chilly days when dead leaves coat the pathways. Dislikes were aristocrats' sons, which were the majority of his equals, any other sweets, and aristocrat soldiers bossing him around. Fascinated, she asked why he loathed the aristocrats so, thereupon inviting him to an irritated tirade.

For Bidan, she might have well been living in eternal night. Time wasn't a known concept. Within hours, she'd soak up Judas' words like the light of day, and she was unashamedly upset when he had to leave.

Judas stood, and attached his sword, a blue-hilted blade, to his hip. "That should be enough about me." As she craned her head, he bowed his. "Before I go, I have a question I must know the answer to." Bidan didn't speak much of herself, so she found it rational to allow him an inquiry. "How do you know me?"

"I…" she started, a flurry of answers scattering her mind into darkness. One was half-lit, a half of a truth. "I have known you since you were a child."

Judas paused, glowering in consideration. "Hmm. How odd." A closed hand thumbed against his chin. "I swear I would have remembered someone as beautiful as you."

When Bidan smiled, she appeared to be near tears.

#

There was something off with the second.

Yes, he was the perfect picture of the first fully-fledged, and there was no doubt their behaviors, their expressions were inexplicably identical. The past months could attest to that much. Especially when Bidan was with the second, she could've mistaken his presence with the first. Then perhaps the issue was that she awaited a child. She was wondering just that as Judas caught her intent stare, and interrupted, "Miss Eunbidan?"

Her thoughts were vast, but shallow enough for her to return. "Is it beginning?"

Unlike a military official, Judas had snuck her into a theater hall. However, the female performers on stage were not actors, but flowed fluidly in the spotlight. White hair cascaded to the side as Bidan peered closely. Dancers weren't for commoners, however, she had lived long enough to observe the evolution of. It was a stunning skill, but she fixated her gaze upward, up to Judas.

While she was bored before, she infinitely brightened now.

In the blanketed darkness of the fourth or fifth row, stars were glowing in Judas' eyes. Somehow, the performance paled in comparison as Bidan surreptitiously leaned into her left, closer to him. He noticed, gave a small smile, and focused back. Amazed, she could neither bring him back nor did she want to.

As soon as the hall emptied, Bidan was no sooner to remark, "You have an eye for dancing."

Flustered in his own way, Judas shrugged and averted his gaze onto the vacant stage. "I had hoped that peculiarity of mine caught yours." Like with the first, there was no judgement as she gave a sympathetic smile. Relief evident in his manner, he held onto a corner of her sleeve, preventing her from leaving. More spectators filled the rows, appearing to be half of humans, or nothing of. Inquisitive, she glanced at Judas, who smirked all-knowingly, and faced the stage. Already, there were dancers, and it took Bidan a few moments before she realized.

"The dance is the same, yet it is not?" Very lightly did Judas prop his chin atop her head before he nodded. Bidan felt that and his arm warming across her shoulders. "It looks different as… as though they move with color, almost." A low laugh emitted from his throat, warm and weightless. "Compared to before," she whispered, and tangled their fingers together, "I can see there is certain beauty."

As the audience rose for applause, she stayed seated when Judas bent his head to kiss her.

 **#**

Bidan awoke with a headache.

Human maladies did not affect her. They all healed within moments, yet she groaned and reached for her empty bedside. Nothing out of ordinary for Judas to vanish in the night. He'd always return. Though how strange it was for him to leave the door open for the evening chills. Maybe, it was more of an invitation as Bidan dressed warmly before following a set of footprints. Time was at the essence for the slow snowfall could eventually lose his trace.

For whatever reason, that he'd leave so hastily to have forgotten the door, Bidan assured herself that he would return, she'd be exceptionally cross, but ultimately, she would forgive him.

At the end of his snow prints was a field. Nearest to her were the mystical flower spirits—the dancers Judas managed, encouraged, promised due fame—, and currently those in tears. Several girls bore fatal wound, and with due patience, they received her healing. Strange, that they buried themselves into her, like she was their earthen comfort, that they wailed words she'd usually understand until " _Judas_."

They pointed, she turned and breathed, "Judas?"

Scattered, those corpses were his equals, but they were not Judas. The sets of footprints leading away from the fray did not belong to Judas. But a single figure, stabbed against an oaken bloodstained trunk, Bidan assured herself was not her Judas. His eyes were closed, instead of electric blue, his lips parted of bloody, blue lips rather than a cocked smirk. Vengeance swelled within her chest, almost bloating her, before she noticed.

The source of his death, Judas rested a slackened hand atop a blue-hilted sword.

 **#**

Bidan did not play favorites, though the third was unusually unforgettable.

A twenty-two-year-old scholar with an interest in botany and any green-thumbed hybrid. Like with the first, he connected with butterflies- and bee-beings, and like the second, he spent all daylight recording lecture from plant-life creatures. He wanted nothing more than to create a cross between a greenhouse and sanctuary where vegetative exploration and a safe space existed. They were gentle before, but Judas the third was extraordinarily so. When he smirked, the edges of his lips were somehow soft and Bidan was no sooner enamored to find them warm as well.

Maybe it wasn't unusual after all. A profound memory refused to drown, adapted to being played again and again. She could remember in vivid precision of Judas asleep within the school's botany building. His right side-bang was glued to his lower lip, and as she tucked it aside, his hand suddenly caught her mid-tuck. They froze. Bleary-eyed, he said he made sense of it.

Interrupted sleep drugged him into spouting nonsense; Bidan believed it to be endearing. " _What is it?_ "

Habits and roses. Cause and effect, he mumbled, and she pressed her lips together into an amused line. The cause is the habit, you would daydream and you would twirl a white lock around your finger. The effect are the roses, you would twirl for a variance of seconds, but again and again, until the waves of white were wrung into roses. There was beauty to habit, Bidan listened to him conclude, before she kissed him awake. Another conclusion. Shuffling around potted plants, he rambled about unintentional observation due to an unfair amount of time together, about time together equating to willingness to prolong the efforts, about _aha_ , finally finding them. Immaculate roses in white, somehow tinged with silver, somehow alike to her own appearance.

When she fawned over his roses, he asked her to become his wife. When emotions robbed her of speech, she nodded and he tilted her head up for a kiss.

After the end of two blissful weeks, Bidan found the botany building desecrated beyond recognition, both his colleagues and findings gone without a trace, and her soon-to-be husband slumped still. An assistant was clasped within his loose fist, a homemade plant-based poison.

Bidan did not play games, yet she was trapped in a cruel rendition of fate.

 **#**

 _the fourth, the fifth, the sixth,_

In actuality,Judas the seventh was her first husband. The significance of proposals had darkened with each Judas, an amalgamation of death threats, a beginning to an end, and time sanding down. Yet the seventh was the longest she'd been granted.

He was fortunate enough to be accepted into a jeweler's shop. Others were not. Like those called mystical monsters or half-humans who possessed more talent within a half-carat of their work compared to his entire collection. At, twenty-nine, Judas the seventh laughed like rushing rapids of boyhood, as though he learned to function like an adult, but could not truly become one.

Bidan liked it, the sharp contrast between his mature workface and the undertones of genuine, jesting Judas. She didn't, couldn't have, taken him for actuality when he revealed his most arduous project—a handcrafted ring that had mirrored the iridescence in her eyes. It was a petite, pretty—the prettiest bit of jewelry she'd ever seen and she'd bask in the glorious treasures of countless royals—masterpiece, and as she held her ring hand high, Judas stated something along the lines of her formally initiation as his wife.

It was very effortless, unlike whatever Bidan watched of bonding ceremonies. But Judas crossed his arms, and kissed her gently. " _Love should be this effortless, I am to you, you are to me till Death do us part_."

A dull ache resounded in her head, like warning bells, like death's personal whispering _I'll harvest your husband at a ripe, young age._ They hid in the shadows for five homey years before one evening, Bidan returned shop to her beloved; Judas with his skilled fingers had carved a deadly slit down his wrist.

 _the eighth, the ninth,_

The tenth came across a habit Bidan never noticed before. Habits and roses were one thing, but kisses in particular places were another. Somewhat mortified, she raised the blanket over the slope of her nose. But Judas was firm, taking a seat onto her bedside, and called for her, in a gentle manner saved for anxious patients. "Look, Bidan." She did so, staring intently. "What do these have in common?"

Out of all things, he gripped her hand to rest against his neck, then to slide up to his temple, down to the inside of his wrist. Slow but surely, she pieced the positions together. Her fingers delved behind his knee, paused at his ankle, and she wondered when exactly his medical-fixated mind perceived these things. Bidan, for one, would have rather buried these subconscious reminders as the palm of her hand pressed against his left pec of his chest. Impossible to ignore then, she breathed to rhythm of his blood beating.

Only one question from Judas, "Why?"

 _Because I have come across your corpse nine times, because I have hoped for your heart pounding in vain nine times, because I have never picked up a pulse from you nine times before, and I_ — "I need to feel that you are alive. For myself," she answered simply, murmurous.

Though it did her no good in the end, she felt what was needed when he slanted his lips over hers.

 _the eleventh, the twelfth, thirteenth, fourteenth_

"Forever, you say? That's… That's a very long time."

There was a gravelly hitch to his voice, Bidan noticed. The fifteenth was the second Judas she had confessed her immortality to, however the reactions were drastically different. As matured as he was, perhaps a child had yet to grasp the expanse of eternity, compared to a twenty-six-year-old's overwhelming awareness.

Widened eyes burned a hole before him, then closed as Bidan rubbed his nape. Glasses off, he mumbled, "I hope you can provide guidance to the orchestra when I am long gone. You know that's what I want."

They'd always placed the non-humans and the hybrids' potential before their own. Bidan expected it as she was in love with his selflessness, his fervor for believing in others, although there'd never been a successful case. They all ended up gone, one group after the other, because they all knew his passing at his own hands should've never been his alone to shoulder.

Already, Bidan began to yearn for the fifteenth as she wrapped her arms around him, her face finding haven where his neck meets his shoulder. Judas patted her arm, a series of soft taps, before he admitted in her hair, "I suppose it is not in my place, however I'd also want you to accept another to take my place."

Words warm across his skin, she murmured, "I could never." Hearing that, doubt forced himself to shy away for a moment. He knew forever was a long time to be alone, yet he brought himself to believe her, neither told of his predecessors nor successors. "Judas, you know that you are the only one for me…" As she turned his face to meet hers, there was a meaning he'd never understand when she breathed, " _Forever_."

#

Bidan had to know if she was the only one.

At an assemblage, her family was disappointed to hear their lesson at the beginning went to waste. Though they were well aware that reincarnation was a near accurate concept, they hadn't known about Judas's soul in particular, always fating the same for Bidan. After discussing with Bidan for some time, they attempted to consider her predicament as they were her, and answered;

 _Do not wait for him_. Simple, if Bidan hadn't fell in sync with Judas as though she was human enough to choose one for the rest of forever.

 _Do not acquaint with him._ If only it were that easy. She had tried with the fourteenth. It was the answer for a while, staying a fair distance as he lived his own life parallel to hers, always across from each other, but never intersecting a conversation or interaction. In the end, the moment he showed an inkling of interest for his closest friend, Bidan's struggle with self-control lost to envy. Parallel lives were too painful of an alternative.

 _Do not leave him alone._ Solemn stares regarded Bidan as her head lowered, rivulets of roses spilling over her shoulder. She'd never consider having constant eyes on him because he was human. But humanity was same; the choice of his end was always up to him. And because of Judas, Bidan witnessed fifteen loves of her life succumbing to despair an indefinite time after the fall of those he trusted and believed in. Thus there was a time frame, a warning, and plan.

Head tilted a slight high, Bidan twined her fingers upon her lap and asked, "Can the two of you help me?"

#

No.2 leaned back in his seat, an arm across the top rail, the other bent at the armrest. Already reading the same page twenty times, he thought to end it there and lay the book onto his thigh. After she slid into the sets next to him, Bidan leaned over to inspect the novel's cover.

When she spotted 'eternity' from the title, she set her sights elsewhere and hummed.

In a voice only for his most troubled sister, No.2 piped up, "He'll be fine." Her light eyes were on the edge of darkening the longer she stared at the restroom door. "No.1 is watching him carefully so he cannot commit any stupid shenanigans."

Her voice sharpened like steel. "Judas does not commit stupid shenanigans."

No.2 heaved a sigh.

A moment later, Judas the sixteenth and No.1 returned to the table with Bidan hovering for her human. He cocked a weak smile at her, leaned into her palms as she cupped his cheeks. His poor health was deteriorating like rapid fire, his ailment a result of his own incapable immunity, and unjustly a biological ailment Bidan or her brothers could not heal.

Subsequently, of course, the twins shook their head when Bidan guided him to his room. In the privacy of just the two of them, she waited until he settled into bed, exhaustion leaking into every step, then she whispered, "I'm terribly sorry about what happened to them."

He'd turn away from her, candlelight flickered across sea-blue hair. "It wasn't you," he mumbled, and coughed for several moments. "At the very least, you would read what they wanted to write."

Just days ago, his publishing house burned to the ground and his chosen writers were forced to flee with a single bundle of their manuscripts. Both Judas and Bidan were willingly confined to house-arrest as his health haunted him and flames hiding a child's silhouette haunted her. She did not regret leaving out the story of Judas the first to her family, even as No.1 and No.2 sneaked her worried looks. The sixteenth saved her, his attachment kept her leveled to what she could do now, instead of what she could not.

"Bidan, please." Arms beside his back, she rested her chin on top and smiled. "I'm in extraordinary pain tonight. You know this will keep me awake for tonight, so I beg of you. Could I be granted with a bit more palliatives?"

Memory was her shield as she replied, "You know that I cannot, Judas. No.2 gave you a necessary dosage after you ate. You'll have to wait until morning after you get some rest."

"Bidan, love. I'm begging you," he gasped, turning just so light gleamed his forehead's perspiration.

Hesitation was a sign of weakness, she once heard. But before her was Judas wracked with pain, his teeth clenched together, his breaths painstakingly passing though. If anything, he was her weakness. Decisive, she retrieved a glass bottle of drugs from her pocket and handed him two. Before she could fetch water, Judas didn't waste time to shove them past his lips and swallowed. Eyes gritted shut, he exhaled in deep silence, before looking straight at her.

His arm out, he whispered, "Over here, Bidan." Eager for tangible comfort, Bidan squeezed in the space beside his lean figure, and lay on her side so her profile fit beneath his jaw. Like a child, he buried his face into soft white hair, like a fresh blanket of snow, and mumbled sleepily, "Good night, love."

It was a good night indeed to fall into gentle sleep with his arms secured around her.

It was a bad midnight for her brothers to scream at her, shocking her awake.

Her first image is of No.2 pressing compulsions onto Judas. But he'd been at perfect peace asleep like that. "Bidan! Eunbidan, you fool, look at me!" shouted No.1, taking her by the shoulders. Second was overwrought worry contorting his expression as he told her, "Bidan, listen to me, alright? Your human is gone. I'm sure he's gone, right under our noses."

Awake, rose her clouded consciousness, sparked the gears of thought.

Impulses kicked at her just then, shoving her brother aside to lean over her Judas. His name, he would respond if she was the one calling, "Judas, Judas? Judas, love, wake up, I beg of you, please wake—"

A hand folded over her shoulder. "Bidan. He's gone."

A hand raking back white bedhair, No.2 blurted in appalment, "How'd he do that?"

Slow, just how he passed, Bidan laid her upper body on top of his, still and silent. "Overdose."

In the next moment, they all remembered. Three times a day, each of them assigned to one time. But today in particular, he had begged each of them surreptitiously, multiple times to throw them off, disordering when exactly they did or did not allow him a vestigial dose or two. In the end, No.1 calculated aloud that Judas had accomplished consuming over ten dosages. And in the end, the twins upped and left their sister to lament another loss.

#

Although each and every Judas offered her unprecedented, unconditional love, his cruelest gift was grief. Bidan had known the terrible tinges of sadness, but grief was unrelenting, unforgiving for a single life. Humans lived in a blink of an eye, yet Judas lived like he never existed. Rarely did his families or caretakers remember his existence, aside from an elder brother whenever he fated for one. His parents were either always dead or always far, and his family were often the mystical or hybrids who'd accept him as he had for them. Even with them, they ended up never existing like his after-death, and Bidan wondered what he was truly meant for.

With the eighteenth, Judas drank atop his school for traditional sword-fighting. Somber, Bidan recalled weeks back when the competition ended with his hybrid students almost killed. _This was a professional battlefield never appropriate for half-breeds like them_ , the judges had decided. Before she could set him down, he pulled his dangling legs from the edge, settled them beside emerald-green bottles. When he did not move away, she came forward with white, balled fists.

"Judas," she started. His arms twisted around the fenced railing behind him. "I've had enough."

As though just to acknowledge her, he responded, "Hmm."

"I've had enough, are you listening to me?" she began to shout. "I've had enough of your senseless injustice, of your placing blame onto the one person who warranted none of it, of never believing in yourself! You shared the same dreams they did; do you not remember?" Almost indiscernibly, his arms loosened, and Bidan was a ruffled red in the face. "Judas, I cannot comprehend how you've come to believe your retribution through death, because the only deliverance through death is grief! I will miss you like mad! I will weep like I've gone mad all because you cannot choose to stay?!"

"Bidan."

"No, do not ' _Bidan'_ me! I've become ill of this, immensely ill of you—"

"Bidan."

"—you've never loved me as much as I'd loved you? You didn't when you buried yourself with fire, you didn't when you took your own sword upon yourself, you didn't when you drank death of your own concoction, you didn't when you slit your wrist vertical, you-you never had…" she sobbed, and faltered. "Come to me, Judas."

Blue eyes glanced back. Tears made a glossy trail down her cheeks, and below, her arms were outward, reaching, waiting. Judas was waiting as well, gazing at her for what could be forever, before he cracked his cocky smirk. "Bidan. I can't imagine what you've gone through but, I for one," he laughed, arms completely spread just like how the first measured her, "I love you even if I have to go."

Impossible now, Bidan blinked back tears, glowering at where he once stood. Below, cries for help were elevating in volume until she fell to her knees, and pressed her face to her knees, her hands over her ears. Blessed to be blind and deaf to the insurmountable tragedy that never failed to come.

#

Another school, another defeat, another Judas on top. The twentieth was not alone this time as Bidan was curled beside him, her head propped by his shoulder. "Just imagine," he chuckled, swaying his arm across the night sky, "if each star in the sky was a fired arrow a celestial archer took a shot at. No bullseye in particular, just… just a blanket of darkness that required light here and there."

She laughed as well. "It's pretty, in theory."

"We could always take our shots as well?" His hand was offered to her, and in this situation, it was her first to take her chances. "Are you ready?"

Not yet, she had to beg. To whoever, whatever predestined her to eternal life, she bargained with them that they could force her through all hell on every realm, if she could only die with Judas. With that, Bidan closed her hand over his, and gave Judas a smile of content consent. As his own way to smile, he smirked back and leaned in to kiss her once, before facing front. A foot dipped toward dangerous footing, and as soon as he leaned forward, so did she.

In the most miniscule of milliseconds, she remembered Judas closing his eyes mid-fall.

Hers shut within the moment of impact. And they opened just as easily when she felt fingernails digging into her arm, shaking her relentlessly. Though she wished not to, Bidan effortlessly lifted her upper body and in dismayed disbelief, scanned her supposed location of death. Both she and Judas had landed upon their carriage, crushing the majority of it, however only he was successful.

Witnesses scattered in shock as she scrambled from the inside seating, and climbed onto the ceiling. In the anterior, Judas was sprawled in the coach's seat, his head having shattered the glass window. Blood collected upon the multiple puddles; this much meant he could not return. Grounded in the living, Bidan whimpered as she reclined in front, settling Judas' head into her lap. His blue hair had roots of crimson, some locks completely dyed like blood, and Bidan brushed them back, as though to bring the blue back, perhaps to bring him back as well.

It was a wasted effort, she knew. Other bystanders began to approach, offering aid as though she'd wanted to live. She very well did not when she reached behind, snapping off an intimidating shard of broken glass. They did not expect her to hold her head high as she stabbed her chest, once, twice, again, again, and again until she was screaming, " _Take me! If you're to take him, take me too! Please, for heaven's sake, take me, please, all I want is to be taken, take me take metakemetakemetake—_ "

After the twentieth, Bidan did not try dying with another Judas ever again.

#

During her time with the twenty-first, Bidan met someone else. He was a timid young man, invigorating with youth and good looks as she'd like them. Though he was not popular with women, he admitted, at all. The reason was lost on her, and he laughed at her cluelessness, found it to be a compliment. However, he was terrible with women for one thing, and that was attributed to his main love, toward six-legged creatures.

"That shouldn't be a problem," Bidan wondered aloud. "Why don't you date a mystical insect then?"

He froze, and flickered his stare from side to side. As an entomologist, he had to keep his personal and love life separate, although he found the hybrids especially arresting. Regardless, he had a problem and he joked he was doomed for a lonely death the moment he fell for insects.

This is how Bidan fell for him. He neither looked like Judas in any distinguishing way, nor did he shared Judas's more distinguishing characteristics except for one. Passion was as exhilarating expressive on him as it was on every Judas she loved—including the twenty-first who lived and breathed—, and Bidan took it upon herself to ask the entomologist to marry her.

At their wedding, Judas smirked at her, yet not nearly fooling him or her, and congratulated on their joyous union.

It wasn't a lie that she was happy with the entomologist. Though she could not provide children, they were pleased with just the two of them and their millions of six-legged friends. She stayed friends with Judas the twenty-first as well, though being with him reminded of the past Judases, and she would love nothing more than to relive the past. Just not the end.

Bidan remained friends, even though he barely glanced at other women, even though he scowled at marriage meetings, even though he never married himself. This was only a small hitch, Bidan told herself over and over, for if she stayed faithful to her husband, then good fortune continued to pour over Judas. For once, he lived to watch his troupe of mystical and hybrid actors dominating the theater world, selling out performances wherever they're staged. Talent within the non-humans, the half-humans was showcased for once, thanks to the acute eyes of their founder, Judas the twenty-first.

Bidan had to convince herself that he was happy, the happiest of all the Judases.

Though he did not live as long as her husband, the twenty-first was on his deathbed at fifty-one-years old. The only one trusted to be at his bedside was Bidan, unaffected by time. Though it ticked second by second for Judas who was almost recognizable by how much had passed. His predecessors died at an average of twenty-four, and here he was having lived twice that.

"Bidan?" He reached out a frail hand, and she met with hers, soft and supple. "Bidan, before I-I…"

"Yes, Judas?"

"I have a question I must know the answer to." The second, the second, the second ran through her mind like a flooded river, and she nodded tightly. "Did you ever… ever…" His mouth was dry as sandpaper, and she waited for him to swallow. "Did you ever think about me?"

Too much effort was exerted for a single, simple question. Bidan knew what exactly he meant, yet she answered, "Of course I think about you, Judas."

Perhaps fear gripped her like a vice as he left it at that, closed his eyes. Tremors wracked his hand, reminding her he was still alive, and her fingers crept upon his wrist, pressing into his pulse. A timer for the rate was decreasing steadily, for she had her chances to tell him what she told the others. This would not be counting as adultery to the entomologist if she disclosed to Judas the twenty-first. Resilient, fear had gathered into a lump, hard to swallow, hard to speak.

His pulse was more than faint when she closed her eyes, murmuring, "Judas. Judas, I think about you as I thought about the rest of them—I've loved all of them as I love you."

When she looked up at him, she did not know if she or death had been first.

#

For a while, she reverted back to loving Judas as she did before. Loneliness had seeped into his skin as it had for her after the first, and Bidan did not wish that upon his successors. Instead, all she could do was return their love with their demise hanging over her head, an sempiternal raincloud preparing to send a shattering storm.

But sometimes, she needed alternatives. With Judas the twenty-fourth, her chances running into his older brother had to be fated. They shared the same face, yet his brother appeared and acted the elder, which was alternative enough for Bidan.

There were many matters she wondered about him, about Judas, about the three of them, and she resolved to ask for answers. The appropriate night was the two of them, a bag of emerald-green bottles, and a starlit river wavering before them. His brother was quiet for the most part, wearing a somber expression that was typically Judas's working-hard face.

Vowing to know, she spoke up, "Yu-hye, can we talk?" Not in a very verbal mood, he nodded. "Are you troubled by my closeness to Judas?"

Ambiguous, he sipped and shrugged.

"I'd supposed you are," Bidan began, her voice steeling from the alcohol. "I met you through him after all. I will admit my eyes were only on him, but you've caught me too. In a way. If you must know, this doesn't happen on the norm, however I had always wanted to know what you were like…"

"Hmm." The bottle of his glass swirled a single drop, nothing more. Staring straight ahead, he replied, "I don't know what you were expecting, but you will not find my brother in me."

"Of course. Despite appearances, you are you."

"I'm not the only one, am I?"

Bidan can hold her own, but she willed herself to divulge, "It's not always appearances. I have preferences towards young men with direction, although I've tried to fill his absence with her. Full of strength, like Judas, but she was hotheaded, like me." Mellifluous laughter lightened the atmosphere, enough for his brother to snort in return. "She only accepted me, because I know he died so young. Really, he would be a sight as a real angel. My brothers would disagree. Is that situation the same for you?"

From what Bidan knew, Judas's brother worked with women who risked their lives. "Miss Eunbidan," he said, the three syllables of her name enunciated on his tongue. Shivers ran down her spine. "I want you to listen to me."

She was, she had to, in order to know.

"I think you have good reason for avoiding Judas, but I care about him too. I don't know what your past with him, frankly I'd rather not, but I think it's clear you shouldn't be with me. I'm not the one who can offer you whatever it is that my brother can. I don't think I or anyone for that can live up to his expectations, so…" Now with a troubled sigh, he advised her, "Do what you feel is right."

Feel what was right. Bidan did not know what was right anymore. After pondering ' _what was right_ ' for a while, she came to a stood and bowed to his brother. What felt right to her was closing the distance to him. She tossed off her heels to run and perhaps wanted him enough to feel like her wings were half-flying. Though the ungodliness of the time was a deterrent, she hadn't a care in the world as she panted before his front door, unlocking it with her spare key.

Chance had to be working in her favor when the door swung open, she toppled in. There was no other explanation for why he'd hesitate before his front door. He had none as well as he recognized, "Bidan?" When he sat onto his elbows, she analyzed the anxiety in his eyes. "Bidan, what're you doing here?"

"Judas," she called in return, lilting, almost loving.

This, Judas the twenty-fourth did not hesitate to repeat himself, "Bidan?"

Before she could stop herself, she felt what was right when she kissed him, and rightfully when Judas kissed back.

#

Judas the twenty-eighth was somehow wiser than the others. Perhaps because he drew bridges all day, it was required for him to have some knowledge of connected structure, foundation, the works. Of course, he had help from his mystical talent who could imagine more than bridges, but whole buildings, skyscrapers, everything.

The two of them were lounging upon the open roof of their apartment. Tenants grew their own garden here, which Bidan was one of them. Half-ripe tomato plants shaded some of her, but she squinted toward Judas's drawing. Another infrastructure of another complicated bridge that were to be built, someday.

Fixated, he almost didn't hear her murmur, "Judas?"

More monotone, he called back, "Bidan?"

Smiling, she leaned against his arm, the one currently not sketching. "What would you die for?"

"Hopefully not this," he mumbled, and erased furiously at near perfect lines. "I'd rather not be known as the guy who died for drawing shitty bridges." Muffled laughter escaped between her fingers, which he felt warming his sleeve. "I suppose you're meaning as what I would put my life on the line for? Well. I don't know… If it's to save innocent lives, I guess. Dune and Dana would've liked that answer. But personally—oh, them especially you know." Them as in the non-humans and hybrids who always dreaded his death, as she had, she did know. "But if there was something I'd die for in a heartbeat—I think it's you."

It was always her, she struggled to say. "Why is it me? I have forever to live while you do not."

Bidan watched his glower, his thoughts firing and fading from his irises, before he mused, "I guess that's just it. Since you can't die, you respectively don't have a reason for dying… It's a terrible thing, but it gives us, or for me at least, like a purpose to leave our mark, and I—I think for someone who doesn't know death, I'd want to give my life to you."

If that was his answer, that was unanimously every Judas's answer. But Bidan had to make certain as she leaned in, asking, "Always?"

Before he kissed her, he gave his word otherwise, "Forever."

#

Twenty-nine Judases later, Bidan was waiting for the thirtieth. To believe she made it this far was enough to push tears from her eyes, force streams of sadness down her cheeks. when she neither sobbed nor cleaned her tears. Most bewildering, she gave no response to bystanders worried for a lone woman crying soundlessly in a children's park. There was nothing she could tell them that they would believe, so they left her alone.

She had a peek of him when he was a child, in this exact park when he rough-housed with neighborhood kids. Though she learned particular patience for the younger ones, she did not for those mirroring Judas the first. Though this was more than a decade later, she returned here, waiting, fiddling with her ring. It was too antiquated, too personalized to be recognized as Judas the seventh's. Bidan liked that it served its significance toward most men, but he would know.

Her gaze lifting from his gift, she heard voices nearing the entrance.

 _I've_

Graduating students laughed in a trio, hoisting flowers onto their hip.

 _Been_

As the only female cracked a joke, he turned to retort, but chanced a peek into the park.

 _Waiting_

The other male snapped back instead, distracting the both of them, when he stopped and stared.

 _All_

Bidan locked her eyes on him as well, somehow feeling a scintilla of fate flickering, before a cocked smirk played across his lips.

 _This—_

The fingers of fate pressed between her shoulder blades and the moment her breath released, they pushed her forward.

* * *

 **end**


End file.
